Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**A Matter of Convenience**

**Summary:** Malfoy agrees to help Harry with a no-strings-attached arrangement to discover if he really is as bent as he suspects.

**Warnings: **This story contains mature content (Slash, Harry X Draco).

For those who haven't read it yet, you can also check out the one-shot outtake to this story, "A Matter of Misunderstanding."

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like to torture her characters.

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**Chapter One:**

Harry ducked as the History of Magic textbook came hurtling towards his head. It made a spectacular crash as it knocked over his ink bottle instead of hitting its intended target. He held up a hand in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture and spoke in a low voice. "Ginny, I know you're mad, but there is no way Madame Pince didn't hear that."

Ginny raised her hands to the ceiling in a gesture of frustration. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she gathered up her study notes from the library table. "Can't I ever get a reaction from you?" She glared at Harry. "I just told you that we should just be friends and you said, 'okay.' No arguments, no denials, just okay. I can understand wanting to go slow, but the pace of our relationship has been positively glacial. Nothing I do gets a rise out of you, emotional or otherwise." She gave a pointed glance at his crotch that made Harry's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I think you need to take a good hard look at what it is you actually want. At least now we both know that what you want isn't me."

She vanished the spilled ink with a wave of her wand and stormed out of the library without another word.

* * *

Harry realized that he had a problem. What with the whole defeating Voldemort distraction, he hadn't paid as much attention to certain things as he perhaps should have. When Ginny announced that she thought they should just be friends, his only feeling was relief. He was bothered, not by the breakup, but instead by his lack of a reaction. They hadn't even gone any further than a few hurried make out sessions. He supposed that most normal teenage boys should feel some measure of frustration that things wouldn't be progressing past that point, but again all he could muster was a feeling of relief. Did the events of the final battle break something vital in him? He was afraid that he had always felt this way and just never took the time to pay attention.

As with anything, he decided to jump head first into the issue. He tried looking up some books in the library, but it was difficult to be discrete with Madame Pince hovering in the background trying to be helpful. He wasn't even sure what subject to look under. Would the library even stock books on broken sex drives?

Harry was similarly hesitant to ask his friends for advice. He loved both Ron and Hermione, but he would sooner nail his head to the wall than discuss his lack of interest in shagging his best friend's only sister with said best friend. This was a problem that he could only solve on his own. He decided that he needed some hands on assistance, so to speak.

Later that evening, he waited until he was certain that all the other inhabitants of the Gryffindor eighth-year dormitory were fast asleep. With the curtains tightly drawn and silencing charms in place, he took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. He cleared his mind and slipped his hand under his pants, ghosting a hand over his soft prick. He tried to visualize Ginny's supple curves and gentle touches, but nothing happened. The sensations were pleasant enough, but that was all.

He sighed and tried to let his mind wander to other sources of inspiration, so to speak. Soon, his head filled with confusing thoughts about hard muscles and surrendered control. His flesh swelled in his hand as he quickened his strokes. Random flashes of angry grey eyes and smooth pale skin rose to the front of his consciousness. His breathing became ragged as he fell over the edge. Even as the golden warmth crested over him, he felt guilty that it wasn't images of Ginny that inspired his reaction. At least he knew that he wasn't broken.

He didn't have enough experience to fill in the mental images beyond vague pictures, but he knew he couldn't ignore the fact that the person touching him in his mind, stroking him, caressing him had not been female. It gave him some direction about what to try next, but he was still left feeling unsatisfied and unsettled. Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

His next step was to attempt a discrete mail order. He knew about the existence of such magazines, of course. Living in a dormitory with four other boys for so many years meant that certain things were inevitable. He was certain, though, that none of the magazines currently secreted away in his friends' trunks shared the same… variety… as the one he had ordered. When the brown paper wrapped package arrived at breakfast a few days later, Harry could hardly think of anything else. His midnight wank a few days prior was still fresh in his mind. Indeed, it had been repeated every night since then, to both his growing arousal and guilt.

He suffered through an entire morning of classes, but his curiosity got the best of him. He begged off lunch, claiming he wasn't feeling well and needed to lie down for a while.

He closed the curtains around his bed, casting first one and then a second paranoid silencing charm. He unwrapped the brown paper and flipped open the magazine. He stared in shocked fascination at the pictures moving on a repeated loop. Men in various states of undress were performing acts he didn't even know were possible. What would it feel like to have someone do that to him, to do that to another person?

He started off slowly, just stroking himself while flipping through the pictures. He paused at one particular frame of a muscular dirty blonde in Quidditch gear doing his best to nail one of his teammates through the locker room floor. Every time the picture neared the end of the loop, the blonde looked straight at the camera and gave a saucy wink.

Harry came with a muffled groan in an embarrassingly short period of time, splashing onto the pages of the magazine. He threw his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

That was it. Definitely gay, then.

* * *

His magazine kept him more than occupied for the beginning of the term, but it couldn't keep the same insatiable curiosity that had driven him to purchase it in the first place at bay for very long. He needed more. He needed… another person.

After the idea hit him, it became all Harry could think about. This was the perfect solution to his quandary. He just needed to find someone to help him figure things out, no strings attached. The only question left was who to approach?

The pool of possible candidates was depressingly slim. It was uncomfortable thinking about being with anyone much younger than himself. The experiences of war created a maturity gap that may as well be insurmountable for someone who hadn't lived it. Harry refused to approach someone who would only accept out of misplaced hero worship. Once he narrowed his choices down to seventh or eighth year students another problem presented itself. There just weren't that many students that he was certain were gay. There was a pair of Ravenclaw seventh-years, but they were already together.

It was during one of his marathon wank sessions that he realized he had forgotten the most obvious candidate of all, Hogwarts' most notorious ponce. The blonde Quidditch player, which had quickly become his favorite, gave his standard wink. Harry closed his eyes and the man's features morphed to pointed features and white blond hair.

It was the thought of Malfoy's mouth on his, Malfoy's body moving in him that sent him over the edge. Explosive waves of pleasure wracked his body, all his previous efforts paling in comparison. Panting and trying to come down from the high, Harry groaned. He had finally gotten the reaction he had been searching for. It was just his luck that the person causing it was such an insufferable git.

Harry spent a moment contemplating whether or not he could try to bury his frustrations until he graduated or find a Muggle bar or something where they didn't recognize him. What if he waited and it still didn't work? He didn't think he could stand the embarrassment if he tried something with a bloke and the same problem he had with Ginny resurfaced. What if Malfoy was the only person that could ever cause him to feel this way?

There was nothing else to do then. He didn't know how, but somehow he had to approach Malfoy.

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Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**A Matter of Convenience – Chapter Two**

**Summary: **Malfoy agrees to help Harry with a no-strings-attached arrangement to discover if he really is as bent as he suspects.

**Warnings: **This story contains mature content (Slash, Harry X Draco). Excessive wanking? I'm not sure if that's a warning or a plot summary.

For those who haven't read it yet, you can also check out the one-shot outtake to this story, "A Matter of Misunderstanding."

* * *

It was harder than Harry anticipated getting Malfoy's attention without calling attention to himself. He tried to do it at breakfast the next day so he wouldn't lose his nerve, but Malfoy was surrounded by his typical Slytherin entourage. They hung all over him in an annoying fashion. It was so unfair the way they casually touched his arm or whispered in his ear. It was as if they knew Harry wanted a moment alone with him and they were mocking him for it. Harry finally gave up and stood by the doors waiting until Malfoy was done with breakfast. Pansy gave him an odd look as they exited the great hall, but Malfoy didn't give him a second glance, the obnoxious prat.

It was no better any other day that week, for that matter. The longer time went on, the more desperate and miserable Harry became. All the various scenarios played in his head on a continuous loop.

Potions class was an unmitigated torture. Harry kept sneaking glances at Malfoy and wondering if it wouldn't be better to just call the whole thing off. Every time he had just about talked himself out of it, he would get a glimpse of Malfoy's long pale fingers measuring ingredients or taking notes. That led to dangerous thoughts about what those fingers could do to Harry, stroking and teasing and _touching._ As pleasant as wanking to the pictures in his magazine had been, it was all getting a bit repetitive. The reaction he was looking for, that explosive intensity was completely missing unless he fantasized about Draco sodding Malfoy. The same Malfoy that was apparently incapable of being alone from his friends for more than ten seconds at a time!

Ron had to ask him to pass the butter three times at dinner that evening before Harry heard him. His stomach too in knots to even contemplate eating, Harry wasn't sure which he was most afraid of; Draco refusing his proposal and mocking him in front of the entire school or accepting and actually doing _that_ to Harry. The idea of _that_ was exciting, scary, nerve wracking, and arousing all at the same time. Harry may still have been a little fuzzy on the specifics, but he had a pretty good grasp on the basics of what went where, at least enough not to completely embarrass himself. Hopefully.

Harry sighed, swirling his fork in his forgotten and abused mashed potatoes. Couldn't he take the easy road, just once in his life? This was just one more thing that made him different than everyone else. He was certainly aware of the Dursley's poor opinion on the matter, but he had no idea how someone of his persuasion would be treated in the wizarding world. Judging by the war they had just been through, he isn't naïve enough to think that magic solved all prejudices.

He glanced down the table toward Ron and Hermione, where they were making sickeningly saccharine faces at one another while eating bits of chocolate cake. After everything they had been through, Harry was confident they wouldn't abandon him if they found out, but they were so fucking wrapped up in their own happy bubble. They had had such precious little time to just relax and enjoy themselves that he didn't need to bring any unneeded stress into the mix.

Not to mention the fact that, just for once, Harry wanted something he could keep all to himself.

* * *

Harry ultimately had to resort to cornering his target after the Slytherin Quidditch practice. If he had any doubts about his ability to be attracted to Malfoy during this arrangement, they were completely erased when he saw Malfoy rounding the corner. His normally pin straight hair was windblown and tousled. His skin glimmered with a sheen of sweat and his cheeks were pink from flying. He moved with the easy languid grace of someone comfortable in his own skin. Chatting with his teammates, he was open and unguarded. Harry's breath caught when he saw Malfoy smile at a comment made by one of the other Slytherins. His entire face transformed. When he wasn't sneering, Malfoy was bloody _gorgeous_.

Trying not to think about this venture was doomed to certain failure; Harry balled up his note and threw it towards Malfoy's direction, while hiding just around the partition to the locker room. It landed with a soft drop at his feet, but wasn't loud enough to actually get his attention. Malfoy systematically removed his Quidditch leathers, slipping out of first his shirt and then his trousers. Before Harry's heart could complete its journey out of his throat, the pale tantalizing flesh was covered up by a thick fluffy towel. Unfortunately for his libido, it was also before he could see anything too naughty. The thought that in a few minutes Malfoy would be on the way to the showers, naked, and wet, and naked, and hot, and most importantly naked, sent any blood that was not currently racing through his veins in a decidedly southern direction.

After a few agonizing moments in which Harry tried to come up with a note recovery plan – couldn't have someone else finding it after all – Malfoy finally spotted it on the ground. The rest of the team redressed and exited, leaving the two of them finally alone. He put the rest of his gear away in the lockers and sat down on the smooth wooden bench to read the scrawled parchment. That did very interesting things to the fold of his towel. Harry craned his head to try to get a better vantage point without completely giving away his position.

Malfoy's look of puzzlement turned to suspicion. He turned to where Harry was waiting around the corner. Harry met his eyes and tried unsuccessfully not to flinch.

"Here is the errant Gryffindor himself. So let me get this straight, Potter." Malfoy gave Harry a look of reserved distrust. "You said you have some sort of proposition for me."

Harry took a deep breath, looking around to make sure they weren't within earshot of any stragglers. He tried to act nonchalant and cool about the whole thing, but suspected he was failing miserably. "I need someone with your specific proclivities to help me with an experiment."

"Get Granger to help you with your Potions project. I'm not interested."

"It's not the type of thing a girl could really help me with, if you catch my drift."

"I'm afraid I'm not following you, Potter. You are wasting my time." Malfoy started to turn back toward the lockers.

"I think I'm bent." Harry didn't mean to say it so baldly, but he was desperate.

To his credit, Malfoy's expression didn't change one iota. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Help me find out for sure."

Malfoy raised one artfully curved eyebrow and cross his arms. "How do I know this isn't a trick?"

"I'm desperate, okay." Blushing furiously, Harry bit his lip.

Malfoy's voice was wary, but intrigued. "What exactly would this experiment entail? Assuming of course, that you aren't just taking the piss."

"I heard you were somewhat… experienced. I'm pretty sure what I like when I'm by myself, but I have no idea what to do with another person. What if I'm wrong, or am absolute pants at it?" Harry turned scarlet. It was embarrassing enough to admit these thoughts to himself. To say them out loud was by turns torturous and liberating.

Malfoy thought for a moment, then his face turned calculating and predatory. "So that's what you're really after." He stroked his chin with his hand. "You need to be certain what you are getting yourself into, Potter. I won't be some simpering little fangirl ready to throw herself at your feet." He circled Harry, bare feet padding the floor. "There won't be any flowers and hearts and shit. If we do this, we are doing this properly. It will be rough and dirty." He punctuated each word with a step closer. "I know you've thought about it, but can you handle it? Another boy kissing you, touching you?" He leaned forward to whisper in Harry's ear. "Fucking you?"

Harry whimpered an embarrassing little sound he wasn't ever sure he was capable of producing. "God, yes."

Malfoy stepped back, seemingly unaffected. "Is this some scheme to embarrass me? I have to tell you, I can't get much lower in status at this school than ex-Death Eater."

"I can go to somebody else if you don't want to do it. I'm sure there must be someone willing to help me out." Harry was bluffing, but hoped Malfoy wouldn't call him on it.

"Tell me, Potter. Why me? Why not approach someone you're actually on speaking terms with?"

"You don't need to speak to be able to shag." Harry waved his hand in a come or go gesture. "I've heard Blaise plays on the same team. If you aren't interested I could always see what he would say." Harry of course had no intention of ever letting that Neanderthal touch him, but Draco didn't need to know that.

"Blaise is willing to fuck anything that moves." Draco looked contemplative for a moment. "He would eat you alive." He held out his hand. "I accept your arrangement, Potter."

Harry grasped his hand in his.

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To be continued...


End file.

Harry Potter, Romance